


Children Playing at Being Adults

by TallyAce



Category: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Did you know Impa is canonically 120 in the events of botw?, Gen, I played around with that, Impa doesn't realize how hard she's pushing Link, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Lizalfos - Freeform, Making her only a few years older than Link?, Regaining Memories, Sickfic, Sort Of, Warriors is mentioned, because she's still just a kid, but none of the others are, hurt fic, injuries, playing the part of an adult, sorry - Freeform, with a little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22331047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TallyAce/pseuds/TallyAce
Summary: (Prompt from Tumblr user: Diecasual): Wild gets a big memory dump at the worst time, and the others have to cover for him.During a large battle in Warriors' land, Wild is pulled into his own past, stuck within a memory far preceding his time as Zelda's knight. While he relives memories he had no idea even existed, learning a deeper side to someone he thought he knew well, he's left incapacitated on the battlefield.
Comments: 29
Kudos: 512





	Children Playing at Being Adults

Wild jumped back, the tip of a rusted blade barely missing his nose as the lizalfos growled. It reared its weapon back once again, but before it could strike a sword collided with its side, slicing into the monster’s leathery skin and killing it instantly. 

“Need a little help, hero?” 

Wild chuckled as the knight clasped him on the shoulder. “If it’s from you, I’ll gladly accept it.” 

Sir Costis met his laugh with a grin, wiping his sword against his pants before turning towards the chaos surrounding them. The heroes had landed in Warriors’ Hyrule about a week ago, and they had been quickly integrated into the rising fear of war. 

Monsters had started retreating from their usual camps in large numbers, and the Princess had been quick to notice exactly what that entailed. She prepared her troops for a fight, a damn big one at that. 

And sure enough, Wild found himself on a foreign battlefield surrounded by knights and lizalfos alike. 

He had been unsure about fighting alongside others in battle. Sure, he could manage it with the other heroes, but Warriors had positioned them all at different barracks. Wild knew that it was to evenly distribute their power across the battlefield, with Warriors, Zelda, and Linkle all grouped near the Castle Gates, awaiting for the ‘boss’ to pass their station. 

Thankfully, Warriors always was good at keeping the others within their comfort zone. 

Wild had been paired with a small squadron, tasked with holding one of the smaller keeps. It housed a fairy, whose job it was to track the boss monster’s path, relaying any changes in its trajectory to Wild’s squadron, so they could pass the information to Warriors. 

Well, it wasn’t Wild’s squadron, it was Impa’s. 

Impa was originally supposed to stick with Warriors and Zelda, with Linkle commanding the Fairy Keep squadron. But Impa had taken one look at Wild, one look and Linkle, and decided that no, that was just a recipe for disaster. 

She wasn’t wrong, but Wild couldn’t help but wish he was fighting alongside the crossbow wielding warrior. She had a penchant for explosions, and he could definitely get behind that. 

Only five minutes into the fight, the fairy had slammed into Wild’s head, frantically yelling about a change in the boss monster’s path. Impa had left with the small fairy shortly after, leaving Wild and Sir Costis to hold the fort on their own. 

If Wild focused, he could see Legend and his squadron not too far off from them. He was holding his own with some dinolfos, while Wild and Costis struggled to fight off the ambush of lizalfos swarming them. 

Wild grinned, tightening his grip on his sword. “Twenty rupees says I can kill more lizalfos than you.” 

“Make it thirty and you’re on.” 

Impa seemed to overlook the chaotic energy that Wild and Costis shared before putting the veteran knight in her squadron. 

The two of them nodded, before dashing off, each targeting different sections of the still growing horde. Wild couldn’t help but watch Costis’s movements, his armor shining in the sun and hair sweeping with his attacks. 

His sword struck through a lizalfos, and Wild felt a weird pang shoot through his head. He frowned, shaking it off to parry an incoming swing, dashing forward to fell two beasts at once. Costis grunted, throwing a lizalfos off his back before driving his sword through its skull. 

The world slowed, Wild frowning through the growing fog. He couldn’t help but think back to Impa’s movements, her silent footsteps and composed nature resonating deeply within Wild. 

Costis and Impa reminded him of something… 

Wild’s eyes widened, and he barely had any time to move before he felt his lucidity fade from him. 

Oh goddesses, not here. Not now! 

The last thing Wild saw was Costis turning towards him, concern and  _ fear _ on his face before the world plunged into darkness.

* * *

Link staggered, blinking the spots out his eyes just in time to see the wooden sword sailing towards his chest once again. His own training sword blocked the attack without a second thought, the dull edge splintering even more than it already had. The force behind the opposing swing shook through his tired limbs, his muscles screaming for a moment of rest. He’d been training for hours already, yet his opponent seemed hard set on not giving him a break. 

The sheikah hopped backwards, her right foot landing softly behind her left in an unbreakable battle stance. She shifted from foot to foot, never letting the momentum of her fight stop even for a moment. Link wanted to relax, to take just a second to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his brow, but he knew he couldn’t. 

The second he let down his already flimsy guard, a wooden sword would find itself smashing against his chest. And once that happened, he’d be expected to stand back up and start the spar all over again. 

Either he won, or he was forced to continue to spar. Yet each time he crashed into the dusty dirt below, it looked less and less like he’d ever be allowed to stop fighting. 

“Fix your stance, hero,” Impa’s cool voice bounced against the tattered and battle scarred walls of the training yard. The few knights and cadets watching the lop-sided match grew quiet at her words, shooting various looks at the panting cadet paired against the seasoned warrior. 

Link could feel the pity in the looks from some of the older knights, the distaste crawling across the dirty walls from the other cadets his age. A few of the knights closer to Link’s age laughed, shouting short insults or mocking phrases at him. 

The name ‘hero’ rang through his ears, the sing-songy tone of the word often trailed behind by a snicker. 

Impa’s form was immaculate, her ghostly white hair wrapped in a tight bun with nary a strand out of place. Her blue training garb fits her loosely, the legs of her pants rolled to her knees and sleeves folded up to above her elbows. The blood red eye of the sheikah stared at Link almost mockingly, resting comfortably on Impa’s chest. The bandages wrapped around her hands and forearms barely showed any sign of the hours of battle, a single frayed strand the only thing to show from their sparring. 

She was only four years older than Link, and already she was more than double the hero he would ever be. 

Link’s eyes darted to the side, his attention caught by an object hurtling towards his head. Before the round item could collide with the side of his face, the tip of a wooden sword jabbed into his stomach, sending him crashing onto the dirt, the air knocked out of his lungs. 

He wheezed, quickly trying to push himself off the ground before a foot pressed down on his chest, holding him incapacitated. Impa stood above him, glancing at his pitiful form under her foot before fixing her eyes on one of the younger knights across the training yard. 

She squeezed her fist, red liquid trailing down her forearm before she tossed the thrown object onto the dirt next to Link’s face. The sickeningly sweet scent of wildberries drew Link’s attention to the oozing cloth staining the dirt. He resisted the urge to vomit, the exhaustion already weighing heavily on his stomach nearly tipping over the edge with the overwhelming stench of rotting fruit. 

Impa glared at the knight responsible, Sir Rodrick Rawlin. He had been granted the title of knight just a day before Link had pulled the Master Sword from its pedestal, and ever since he seemed to despise the newly titled hero. That had been nearly three years ago, yet his hatred for the child nearly ten years younger than him had only seemed to grow. 

“I suggest you leave, Sir Knight,” Impa managed to restrain the venom from her voice, the only indication of her anger being her scowl and clenched fist. Impa always stressed the importance of composure, how a person’s reactions, or lack thereof, could be just the thing needed to win a battle. Link was getting better at pushing his emotions and opinions down, but Impa never quite seemed to be content until everything was perfect. 

“Oh, the little  _ hero  _ can’t defend himself?” Rodrick sneered, earning a few muffled chuckles from the knights and squires forming his entourage. 

Impa’s scowl fell, replaced by a small smile. It sent a shiver down Link’s spine, nothing good ever came of that smile. “He can defend himself much better than you can,” Impa lifted her foot from Link’s chest, leaving him quietly gasping for air and coughing on the ground as she confidently strode towards the small gathering of onlookers. One of them stared at Link with wide eyes, before darting out of the training grounds and away from Impa. 

Sir Rodrick flinched back at the sword tip pointing at his neck. He tried to cover it up with a cough, but Impa’s smile only grew. Link knew what she was doing, and he really wished she would stop. She was feeding into Rodrick’s hate for him, and she knew it. 

She wanted some of the knights to hate Link, to kick him while he was still down and rip whatever small sense of joy from him that the sword had missed. It strengthened him, gave him the will to push past the obstacles in his way no matter how much they beat him down. 

He knew Impa had no ill will towards him, and there were often times where she would let her tough exterior break, if only for just a moment. There were times she would look at him fondly, reminding him of long since buried memories of old. For as much as she beat him down, made him feel as though he was less than the dirt everyone walked on, she also served as a source of comfort for him. She spent his birthday with him, letting her aura of perfection break as she struggled to cook with him. She had even snuck him out of the castle during the holidays,so he could visit his family for the night. 

But in that moment, as Rodrick’s face grew red and her grin grew wider, Link could not hate her any more than he did. 

Rodrick glared at Link from over Impa’s shoulder, the cadet struggling to push himself off the ground. His vision screamed white, sending him doubling over with his palms pressed against his shut eyelids. 

“Shall we spar, Sir Rodrick Rawlin of Mabe Village?” Link could barely make out Impa’s invitation through his ringing ears, the ground swirling and spinning under his feet. 

“I have nothing to prove to you, sheikah scum,” Rodrick hissed, spitting on the ground next to Impa before storming out of the training grounds, his lackies quick to follow. 

Link barely noticed his legs give out from under him, eyes unfocused and mind fuzzy. He felt hot, like a fire was burning away at his heart and tearing apart his skin. He only noticed the arms holding him up when they turned him around, a blurred face entering his vision. 

“...ocus kid. I ne…” A soothing voice cut in and out of the static, their face morphing and twisting in Link’s melted sights. He slumped back, two more hands grabbing onto him before his back weakly rested against someone’s chest. 

He could feel the person behind him’s voice humm in their chest, but the words fell of deaf ears. Another foggy figure swirled in his vision, a freezing hand pressing against his forehead moments later. The hand burned against his skin, and he weakly tried to turn his head away. 

“...ick… an’t cont… needs rest.” 

Something cool pressed against his lips, a thick liquid sliding down his throat with ease. He repressed the urge to cough it all back up, feeling his chest constrict and numbness fade from his stomach. 

He groaned, dipping his head forward as a shock of cold washed over him in seconds, the burning fever masked by the punch of whatever had been drained down his throat. The soft murmur of voices around him steadily grew louder, before he winced, resisting the urge to cover his ears as he realized they were yelling. 

“He’s in no state to continue training, just look at him!” Link glanced up in time to watch Sir Perrault gesture to him, with one arm under Link’s armpit and the other pointing at his flushed face. 

The hands on his waist shifted, wrapping around his torso almost protectively. “Impa, he’s sick,” Sir Davac’s voice was soft, wobbling with unspilled emotions. “If you push him any more than you already have, it’ll only make matters worse.” 

Impa tossed the empty bottle aside, crossing her arms to stare at the shaking form of Link, only held upright by the two knights. A paige stood in the archway of the training yard, face flushed and hair disheveled. He was one of those who left, Link slowly realized. He must’ve gotten Sir Davac and Sir Perrualt to come help him. A few others concerned faces stared at the trio from the edges of the training yard, yet no one made any move to assist. 

Link bit his lip to hold in a soft whimper, weakly pushing himself out of Davac’s hold before nearly collapsing onto the ground. Perrault cursed, quickly grabbing onto Link to support him before his hands were pushed away. 

“Kid, sit down,” Davac calmly commanded, his hand resting on Link’s back. “We’re taking you to the medics.” 

Impa was silent, staring at Link expectantly. He shook his head, biting his lip again as he resisted the urge to vomit. 

“No, you’re not playing the tough guy right now,” Perrault hissed, pressing the back of his hand against Link’s forehead. It stung even more than when Link had been numb. “You have nothing to prove to anyone right now.” 

“You’re burning up, if you wait any longer to rest you’ll only hurt yourself.” Davac pried the sword from Link’s hand, he hadn’t even realized that he was still holding it. “This isn’t something to brush off, you can seriously damage your body if you don’t stop.” 

“‘M fine,” Link managed to slur, grabbing the sword out of Davac’s hands before taking a shaky step towards Impa. 

The sheikah grinned, kicking the glass bottle into a training dummy, shattering it on impact. She yanked her training sword from the dirt, shaking the dust off it with a twirl before pointing it directly at Link’s chest. Sir Perrault stepped forward, holding out an arm between Link and Impa. 

Yet he was smacked backwards, his bare arm quickly turning a nasty shade of red. Impa huffed, looking blankly at Davac where he stood behind Link, hand hovering over his shoulder. 

“We go until he wins.” 

* * *

What in the goddess's name was Wild doing?! 

Legend skidded to a stop, throwing his sword up just in time to block the maw of a lizalfos. The beasts jaws clamped down on his sword, yanking and twisting its head around to pull the sword from his grasp. 

In one solid motion he pulled one of his items from his belt, twisting his body enough to move out of the way as an explosion of fire burst from his fire rod. The hilt of his blade burned in his palm, but he grit his teeth, tightening the hold as the lizalfos flung backwards, crashing into a small horde of its brethren. It screamed, it’s skin blackening and catching the other lizalfos on fire. 

He whipped his head back to wear Wild stood, sword resting at his feet and arms limp at his sides. One of the knights stood next to him, struggling to keep the increasing horde of monsters away from the eerily still hero. 

Without thinking, Legend began to run towards Wild, narrowly avoiding arrows and jumping over mangled bodies in his path, monster and hylian alike. He’d seen this happen once before, when they were at the lake. Twilight had stuck behind with him, and it had taken the two of them nearly four hours to catch back up. 

Of all the times for a memory to come back to him, why now? 

The knight next to Wild swore, yelling something at the catatonic hero before the sword was ripped from his hand, his body shoved to the ground. The lizalfos rushed towards Wild, grabbing onto his neck and pushing him down onto the ground. 

Legend’s heart stopped as it leaned over top of Wild, raising its sword above its head before jabbing it down and into Wild’s chest. The long-haired hero jerked with the blade, yet made no move to push the monster from his chest. 

The lizalfos ripped the blade from Wild, his blue tunic quickly seeping red. It rammed one of its clawed feet into the wound, digging deeper into his chest without a single noise from Wild. Legend felt his steps hammer against the grass, pushing himself to run faster, he had to be faster. 

The lizalfos turned towards him, caught off-guard as the knight from earlier stood, jamming Wild’s discarded sword into its neck. The beast crumpled, falling limp in the dirt next to where Wild laid, eyes staring blankly at the sky. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Legend ignored the knight’s question, sliding down onto his knees next to Wild. He pulled Wild's shirt up and over his head, leaving it around his shoulders still to rest on the back of his neck. 

Wild’s breathing was shallow, wheezing against his bleeding chest. Legend cursed under his breath, dropping his sword and unclipping a small pouch from his belt. He turned to the knight, who hovered awkwardly over him and Wild. “Keep him safe with your life.” 

The knight nodded without hesitation, tightening his grip on Wild’s sword before turning his back to the two heroes and towards the stray monsters heading their way. 

Legend uncorked his remaining healing potion, tossing the cork to the side as he grabbed onto the back of Wild’s head, tilting it up to pour the red liquid down his throat. The bottle was half empty before he realized Wild wasn’t swallowing, and he quickly set the bottle down, rubbing circles in Wild’s throat to coax him into drinking the damn potion. 

He sighed in relief as the red liquid was slowly drained, pouring the rest of the potion into Wild’s mouth before repeating the process. He cringed at the grunt from the knight behind him, accompanied by the sharp screech of a lizalfos clawing against his arm. 

Come on come on come on, snap out of it, Wild! 

Wild’s chest slowly knit back together, the blood clotting around the wound while pale strands of skin gently knit back together. Legend’s breath hitched as it stopped healing, the wound held shut by two thin strands of tissue, already on the verge of tearing apart from Wild’s gasping breaths. 

He needed another potion. 

Legend snapped his head around to the knight, watching as he flung a screeching lizalfos off his arm. “Potions?!” 

The knight glanced back at him, shaking his head before whipping back around, slicing Wild’s sword through the neck of a monster and sending it tumbling onto the bloody grass below. “He needs a medic!” 

Legend cursed, pressing a hand against Wild’s forehead and hissing. It was cold, he had already lost too much blood. He needed to get off the battlefield, but how? His heart leapt as Wild’s body lifted into the air. He grabbed his sword on instinct, relaxing as he saw Wild wasn’t in danger. The knight from before held Wild in his arms, the hero’s head lolled against his shoulder and legs hanging limp. 

“I’ll carry him, but I need you to cover me.” The knight stared at Legend, his eyes frantic and worried yet voice calm. 

Legend could do nothing but nod, snatching his discarded fire rod from the ground. The two of them tore across the battlefield, Legend just a few steps behind the knight, blasting any monsters that dared mar their path. 

The shouts and clangs of battle shook through the air, pounding against Legend’s rapid heart. He sped up, pushing the knight and Wild out of the way as a column of flame burst from his fire rod, sending a small group of monsters flying backwards in smoldering heaps. 

Legend whipped around as a hand grabbed onto his arm, coming face to face with a breathless Twilight. His face was covered in scratches, his left eye glued shut with blood. Despite having obviously sprinted to catch up to Legend, he kept pace with him and the knight, not falling behind as he stared at Wild’s limp form. 

“What happened?” He tried to slow the knight down, to pry Wild out of his arms so that Twilight could hold him. But the knight shook his head, speeding up his gait. 

“Memory,” Legend said curtly, pulling Twilight back. “He needs a medic.” 

Twilight bit his lip, desperately watching as Wild was ripped from the knight’s arms, surrounded by a small team of healers before being dragged into a makeshift tent. The two heroes could do nothing but watch their friend disappear behind the stained white cloth of the tent, left with a war to their backs and blood smeared knight to their fronts. 

* * *

Link shot awake, hand tangled in a mess of blankets and hair glued to his forehead with sweat. He groaned, cupping his head in his hands as the small sliver of light from the window sent a sword through his skull. 

Speaking of swords, hadn’t he been in the middle of training? 

He slowly pried open his eyes, a whine building in the back of his throat as he struggled to keep his vision focused. The bed beneath him was soft, far nicer than anything in the knights barracks. Bookcases lined the walls, stuffed full of scrolls and tomes of old, filling the air with the dusty scent of a library. 

A small, round window let in the soft breeze of midsummer, the chirps of birds making Link nauseous. Deciding the light was much easier to handle than the noise, he slammed his hands over his ears. He relished in the relative silence of the room, tracing the patterns on the quilt resting on top of him with his eyes. 

The Eye of the Sheikah sent a wave of panic through his heart. 

He’d been fighting Impa, why was he here?

Link huffed, trying to remember what had happened. He’d woken up with a fever before sunrise, pulled into a spar with Impa. She’d said that if he wanted to rest, he needed to beat her… 

He glanced at the cozy room around him, frowning. They’re been sparring from sunrise to well after the sun reached the highest point in the sky. As the hours went by, he certainly wasn’t getting any better, the sickness he had been fighting growing stronger and stronger until he could barely comprehend his surroundings. 

Link highly doubted he won one of their spars, so why was he in a bed? 

Despite his attempts, he couldn’t quite remember what had happened after Sir Rodrick left. He remembers a potion, and two older knights trying to pull him from his training before he was done. Was this their doing? 

Link pulled his hands from his head, not wincing at the birdsong drifting through the window. He gently ran his calloused fingers over the quilt, rubbing circles around the blue iris staring up at him. Impa wouldn’t have let him off that easy, once her mind was set she rarely gave in. 

She might’ve let Sir Perrault and Sir Davac pull Link from his training, but she would be back to continue it soon. 

He sighed, leaning back to rest his head on the soft, fluffed pillows. He hadn’t expected them to be so squishy, his head sinking considerably into the cushions before resting. Everything was so comfortable, reminding him of his home, pressed against his dad’s chest and wrapped in a handmade blanket. 

Goddess, he wanted to go home. 

Link held back a dark chuckle, berating himself for sounding like a child. He couldn’t go home, he had a duty to fulfill. Once it was over, and Ganon was destroyed, he could take his sister and his father and steal them away. They could sail across the ocean, take refuge in a foreign land and never see Hyrule ever again. 

“Finally awake, is he?” 

Link jumped up, staring wide-eyed at Impa, standing casually in the still closed door frame. How she had got in there, he didn’t know. He quickly threw the blankets off of himself, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 

The room lurched around him, Impa’s hands were the only thing preventing him from slamming into the wooden floor below. His vision faded in and out, a soft whine escaping his gasping lips before he could stop it. 

Impa sighed, pushing Link back down onto the bed before pulling the covers over him. He frowned as she sat on the edge of the bed, one of her hands pressed against his forehead. 

It didn’t burn as much. 

“You need to tell me when you’re sick.” 

Link froze as Impa ran her hand through his sweat soaked hair. She was staring at him with… Sadness? Compassion? Vulnerability? Link shook those thoughts from his head. Even when Impa would help him cook, or sneak his sister into the castle, she had always maintained a sort of composure. 

All her emotions had some restraint to them, to make sure she never truly revealed herself. She wouldn’t break down those walls just because he was sick. 

...Would she? 

Impa groaned, leaning forward to rest her head in her hands. Her hair was a mess, disheveled and matted from lack of upkeep. Her hands shook, and that alone terrified Link. To see such a strong, composed leader falling apart next to him, he couldn’t help but wonder what had made her like that. 

“I didn’t know how bad it was.” 

Link frowned, pushing himself up to sit before Impa pushed in back down, tucking the blankets tightly around him. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off as she looked at him over her shoulder. 

She ran a hand through her hair, the bags under her eyes speaking to days without sleep. But, Link had just been sparring with her earlier that same day… Right? “I’m sorry.” 

“...What?” Link managed to choke out, pushing her hand aside to actually sit up without her shoving him back down. 

“I said I’m sorry,” Impa groaned, cupping her head in her hands once again. “I thought you were just tired from sparring. I didn’t know you were…” She trailed off, a watery chuckle leaving the room silent. 

She was crying. 

Link made her cry. 

Without a second thought, Link shuffled around, wrapping his arms around Impa’s torso and pressing his face against her back. “‘M sorry.” 

Impa snorted, “For what, little goblin?” 

That was a nickname he hadn’t heard in a long time. Link hummed, “Getting sick.” 

Impa went rigid. She craned her head back to look at Link, but he refused to look at her, burying his face deeper into the fabric of her training clothes. “That’s not your fault. No one can choose whether or not they get sick.” 

Link shook his head, forcing his breathing to stay even. “I can’t be sick, too much is at stake.” 

“...Even heroes can get sick, little goblin.” 

Impa pushed him further back onto the bed, giving her enough room to turn around a sit cross-legged facing him. She reached forward, pulling the kid no older than twelve to her chest, tucking his legs in her lap. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t get sick.” 

Link didn’t answer, simply inhaling the deep scent of swift violets and rain bleeding through Impa’s clothes. She smelled like Kakariko, and Kakariko smelled like Link’s mom had. He wondered what his mom would’ve said, seeing her son curled against the chest of her dearest friend’s daughter. 

Aryll was always their mom’s ‘little songstress.’ But Link, he was her ‘little goblin,’ no matter how many times he used to protest the nickname. Impa had called him that when his mom had still been around. Impa had called him that before it was replaced with ‘hero’ and a sword was strapped to his back. 

The tears spilled from his eyes before he even realized it, shoulders shaking as he grasped at Impa’s shirt. He balled the fabric in his fists, covering his face with it as he hiccuped and wheezed in Impa’s lap. 

One of her hands ran through his hair, holding his head close to her chest. The other rubbed circles on his back, focusing on the repetitive motion to stop herself from crying in front of the small hero. 

“I wanna go home, sis,” the nickname slipped from his quivering lips before he could stop it. She wasn’t his sister, he knew that. But he couldn’t help but dwell on the times she would stay with his family, reading him and Aryll stories to put them to sleep, practicing making buns in Link’s hair. 

Her arms tightened around him as she buried her face in his hair, letting the tears spill out for the first time since she had heard the news of the newest wielder of the Master Sword. She cried for the first time after hearing who she would be training, and what he would have to face in his future.

“...I do too.” 

* * *

Wild’s eyes snapped open, his body moving before his mind could catch up. Something was restraining him, it was holding him down and pulling at his arms and he couldn’t move. He needed to move, he didn’t know where he was and he needed to know where he was and he needed to move--

Something wrapped around his foot, tugging his balance out from under him and sending him crashing into a solid object. The object wrapped around him, and he thrashed around. He needed to move, he couldn’t stay he needed to leave he needed to move why couldn’t he mo--

“Easy cub, you’re okay.” 

Just like that, the panic in his mind snapped like a rubber band. He deflated, falling limp against Twilight’s chest as his mentor grunted, shifting his holds on Wild to fully support him. 

Wild’s heart still pounded in his chest, his breathing erratic while his mind still pushed through the fog clouding his thoughts. His chest  _ burned  _ stealing the air from his lungs once his panic was no longer numbing the pain. Thick, scratchy bandages wrapped around his arms and chest; looking down he realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. 

Twilight gently set him back down on the small cot, the scent of blood and potion hitting Wild’s nose in an instant. The older hero sat down on the floor, pushing Wild to lay down before resting his head on the mattress, his hand resting on Wild’s chest. 

“You’re bed-bound for a week, doctor’s orders.” 

Wild huffed, sticking out his tongue despite the memory still clawing at the back of his mind. “Hasn’t stopped me before.” 

Twilight snorted, leaning forward to press his forehead against Wild’s side. The two of them closed their eyes, simply enjoying the moment of calm between them. 

Before long, however, Twilight sighed, drawing Wild’s attention to his mentor. “...You remembered something.” 

Wild sighed, tilting his head back to stare at the wooden ceiling of the infirmary. “How’d I get here?” 

“Sir Costis and Legend carried you off the battlefield, and once there was a pause in fighting the medics rushed you back to the castle.” Twilight grabbed onto Wild’s hand, squeezing it. “We were all worried sick, you took a nasty blow out there.” 

Wild shot Twilight a wobbly smile, “I’ve gone through worse.” 

“I know, that doesn’t mean we can’t worry.” 

The infirmary was empty save for the two of them, and Wild realized that he was probably put in a separate room from the others. Whether that be for his sake, the other patients sake, or the sake of the other heroes, Wild didn’t know. 

The sheets on him were scratchy, the thin, white blanket that had tripped him earlier was still coiled around his ankle. He would’ve sat up to unwrap it, but he doubted Twilight would let him. 

“Sir Costis is worried about you.” 

Wild chuckled, glancing at Twilight out of the corner of his eye. “I like him, he’s nice.” 

Twilight hummed, “The two of you seem to get along well. He’s a good example for you to be around, I think.” 

Wild huffed at that, turning to Twilight with a playful scowl. “Why is that?” 

“Because he’s not a moron like you, but not self-centered like Warriors.”

The two of them laughed, but it didn’t fill the empty air slowly suffocating the small room. They had things they needed to say, and it all landed on Wild’s shoulder to start that conversation. 

Wild sighed in defeat, choosing to address the blunt statement from earlier. “Yeah, I remembered something.” 

Twilight simply hummed, letting the silence of the room push Wild to elaborate. Which he did. He ran his freehand through his hair, noticing the lack of tangles. Someone must’ve brushed it… “It was from before I was Zelda’s knight… At least I think so. She was never mentioned.” 

“What caused the memory, do you know?” 

“...Yeah. It was being around all the knights… And Warriors’ Impa.” Wild bit his lip, the poise and grace of Warriors’ Impa reflecting the one in his memory. It was creepy, in a way, seeing how similar the two were. “Impa and I had a much deeper relationship than I ever thought.” 

Twilight frowned, “What do you mean?” 

“...She was like my older sister before I pulled the sword.” 

“And after?” 

Wild chuckled, meeting Twilight’s eyes with a lop-sided grin. “My absolute nightmare. She was one of my higher ups, but she was still a kid herself. She pushed me too hard, trying to prepare me for the Calamity without realizing how much it…” 

He trailed off, choosing to stare at the ceiling instead of continuing his thought. Twilight finished it for him, “She didn’t realize how much it hurt you.” 

Wild nodded, “I want to talk to her when we go back to my Hyrule.” 

Twilight smiled, squeezing Wild’s hand. “I think that’s a good idea, cub.” 

Wild squeezed his hand back. 

**Author's Note:**

> This one was fun! I actually split it off from the other one-shots I've written, just because it's much longer and it might be one I write a short second chapter to in the future. 
> 
> And if anyone was wondering, I take my outlining VERY seriously: 
> 
> Reworded prompt: Wild gets a heccin’ chonker of a Vietnam flashback during a vibe check and he fails.


End file.
